


The Storm

by tuliptoes



Series: The Leftovers AU [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - The Leftovers Fusion, Drinking Games, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, bottle episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:48:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25447129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuliptoes/pseuds/tuliptoes
Summary: This is a companion piece to my Braime Leftovers fusion story, The End of the World.If you haven't read that or seen The Leftovers, here's the general premise: one random day in October, two percent of the world just disappeared, never to be seen again. The book/show picks up with the survivors of that day, exploring how they cope in a world gone mad (and it's fantastic show with an all-time great finale).This is a tale from the other side, we're hanging out with two who vanished. You don't have to read the first part to understand this one, but it will shade in some background details.If you like what you see, check out my other stories, or come hang out on tumblr, I'm albatrossisland.
Relationships: Cersei Lannister/Ned Stark
Series: The Leftovers AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1843117
Comments: 11
Kudos: 37
Collections: The Good Ship NedSei - Ned/Cersei Fics





	The Storm

**Author's Note:**

> "But never have I been a blue calm sea  
> I have always been a storm"
> 
> Storms, Fleetwood Mac

**October 2012**

Ned Stark felt himself die when he saw his youngest daughter disappear in front of him.

She was there, right there in front of him, waiting for him to throw her the ball, and then she wasn't.

He grabbed his chest, hoping that what he had just seen was a death hallucination, that he had died suddenly instead of her. 

He stumbled into the house, yelling for Catelyn, for Robb, and there was only silence.

He heard a scream, one long, mournful note echoing through his empty house, his empty street, his nearly empty city and it was only later that he realized it had come from him.

**December 2012**

It was Sevenmas Eve, and he was alone. 

It had never happened before.

He’d been without his family, yes, or Robert, or his parents when they were still alive, but there had always been someone to spend the night with, even if it was just some nameless court employee.

He took a drink, and it burned in his throat as he knocked back glass after glass. _Before_ , he would drink occasionally, with Robert, or on holidays, or after a particularly tricky verdict. It was never a crutch.

Now he understood. Better to feel this than to feel nothing at all.

_Much better_

He tried to picture Catelyn; they had a tradition, staying up late, sitting by the fire, she would usually read some novel, he would browse law review articles, and when it was late enough, she would take his hand and lead him to bed.

His chest hurt at the memory, but what else could he do? Where else could his mind go, except with her?

Catastrophe wasn’t a big enough word for that day. Most of the world just vanished, and the few who were left had everything they could possibly want; cleaner air, any house of their choosing, any food they could find and keep, and absolutely no one to share it with.

He finished his glass, and poured himself another. 

Before, he had been a judge, and today, he’d been an electrician, trying to figure out how to keep the power plant running. He had found one young man named Podrick, little more than a boy, who had survived The Disappearance, who was helping him. Yesterday, he’d been a mover, helping Podrick move into the house next door, because it made more sense for both of them to be closer and for the grid to be more contained. 

The Karstarks wouldn’t mind. They were gone forever now.

A booming knock echoed through the empty room, and he shot up from his seat, hoping it was not an emergency, because he’d been drinking too much to be helpful, but there were only so many people left, he would have to help.

He smelled her before his eyes could focus on her face; he would know that cloying, strong perfume anywhere.

“Cersei.”

She looked him up and down, like she always did, judging him first and speaking second. He tried not to take it personally, she did that to everyone.

Her eyes settled on the tumbler in his hand, he had forgotten to set it down in his panic.

“Sounds delicious, I’ll have a double.”

He did not invite her in, but she walked past him as if he had. She poured herself a drink and flounced onto his couch (Catelyn's couch) like it was her place to.

Ned sighed as he refilled his own glass and sat down across from her, trying to reason why she was here tonight.

Her face twisted as she took a sip, but she kept drinking, turning from him to stare at the dwindling fire. It was cold outside, the whole world was suddenly colder, but in here he was warm.

"Why are you here?" he asked, trying to keep his voice level, trying and failing to mask his irritation.

"Father wants to invite you to our Sevenmas dinner tomorrow, you and that boy of yours."

"You couldn't have called?"

"The phones stopped working, and we haven't found anyone who could fix them today."

Out of habit, he reached over and picked up his receiver, and yes, it was silent. He hadn't noticed, but how would he have known?

"Lannisters don't always lie, Eddard." She smirked at him, that devilish grin Robert had told him meant she was ready to attack.

He sighed at the nearly feral look on her face. He was in no mood for her or her Lannister games, not tonight.

"Message delivered, now if you don't mind?"

He stood up, turned his back to her, heading toward the door, but she didn't move, just sat there, clutching her glass and staring at the fire.

She grinned at him, like she'd caught him at something.

"Why Ned, you are being uncharacteristically rude. One would almost think you didn't like me."

"One would almost be correct."

She blanched at his harsh words, and he wanted to feel guilty, but he was too tired and the world was too empty for guilt.

But he had hurt her, no matter how fast she could seal her face into that placid mask, he'd seen it, and he felt bad about it for exactly one second.

"That's why I like you," she said slowly, turning her head to the flames once again. "You don't ever feel like you have to lie to me."

She stood up, a little shaky on her feet, but she set her tumbler down with ease.

She walked over to him, they were nearly the same height, and his heart ached as he thought of Catelyn, how she would rest her head on his heart when she was upset. He gasped at the memory but managed to cover it with a cough.

Cersei looked right through him, her cold green eyes dangerous and small on her pale face.

"Why don't you like me?"

Her words were hard and laced with anger and frustration, he saw how tight she held her facial muscles this close, how she was only held together by spite and sheer will.

And he wanted none of it. He wanted her gone. And the truth was the only way out.

"I don't think it's right for a wife to sleep around in her husband's home."

He had seen her at their last Sevenmas party. Robert had been indulging too much that night, but he was jovial too, laughing too loudly, but he got other people to laugh with him, so it had felt good, like it was supposed to.

Ned had left the party to find a bathroom, and he’d heard what he thought might be crying. He crept into Robert’s office, not wanting to spy on a crying child, or a servant, just wanting to assure himself that it wasn’t one of his children crying. And there was Robert’s wife, with her legs wrapped around the lower half of one of her husband’s bodyguards.

He walked away, he kept silent, because it wasn’t his business, but he never forgot. He had more words for her (shrill, cold, given to rages), but they weren't his words, they were Robert's, and wherever his dear friend had gone, Ned would not betray him like that, not for anything.

She took a step back from him at his harsh words, but she did not lower her eyes as he expected.

“Yes, a man like you would judge me for that. I didn’t expect less,” she paused, let her nostrils flare, but still did not drop her eyes from his. “And I’m sure you told Robert to stop his endless philandering. No way the honorable Judge Eddard Stark would be best friends with a serial adulterer, so he must have stopped because of your hard admonishment.”

She stepped closer and turned her right cheek to him. “And that night where I couldn’t quite get my makeup to cover the bruise on my face, and you saw the shadow as I greeted you, you told him that you couldn’t be friends with a man who would beat his wife, no matter how much you also disliked her.”

_Why didn't you leave then?_

He wanted to shout, to scream the question at her, as if Robert's hitting her was her fault, and he remembered seeing the bruise on her face, the momentary shock as he knew what had done it, and he remembered how his mind had twisted it, telling himself she must have fallen, yes, she had fallen on her face as she was embarrassed, so embarrassed that she couldn't even cover up the bruise.

It was not his business after all. She'd hurt herself, he didn't need to ask why.

He felt the shame pour over him, sinking into his skin, infecting his blood.

“Happy Sevenmas Ned.”

She stepped back from him, finally turning those piercing eyes away from him. She brushed past him, and she closed the door quietly, leaving him with only his thoughts and his grief and his guilt.

**April 2013**

Ned laid down in his living room, wishing for Catelyn, wishing her strong hands could rub the tension out of his shoulders.

He’d forgotten how grueling it was to stay on his feet all day, but between some unexpected electrical outages, and some light flooding downtown, he’d done nothing but walk and run back and forth between the two plants. 

Fortunately, he had more of a team now than just Podrick; they were eager to help, eager to learn, but that didn’t change the fact that they didn’t know anything yet, and while his knowledge was limited, he at least had worked in plants before (even if it was close to 30 years ago).

_When did I get so old? When did I stop feeling young?_

He knew the answer, they were all old now, even the youngsters like Podrick. How could anyone stay young when the whole world just disappeared?

He heard the knock, and he didn’t want to answer it, he could feel it in his tired old bones that he would be better off ignoring whoever was there, but he did get up, because it could be an emergency, he was the Warden for King’s Landing North (Tywin’s ridiculous name for a great idea from Tyrion), he had to answer.

She was back.

He hadn’t seen her since that incredibly awkward Sevenmas dinner her father had hosted. It was a miserable night for everyone there, who would all have rather been somewhere else, but he told himself later that while that was true, at least he had had the opportunity to be miserable with other people.

She had not spoken to him the entire night, but he had been too embarrassed to force the issue. Her visit had been a bad night for him, for her too he suspected, it was better to forget the whole thing.

But she was here now, not forgetting, not letting it pass.

“I could really use a drink.”

Once again, she pushed her way into his home regardless of his wishes. She headed straight for the liquor caddy, pouring herself some scotch and downing it before he could even sit down.

He sat down, watching her pour herself a second. “Rough day?” He could not keep the irritation out of his voice, and even if he had tried, he doubted he could have been successful.

She took a long drink, finishing off her second, pouring herself a third before finally sitting down next to him on the sofa.

“Yes.”

He shook his head, almost angry at her gall, to come to his house and complain about her day in The Rock, where her father directed the world from his penthouse, and the rest of her family just had to watch.

“Yes, I’m sure it was rough watching the little people work from your high tower.”

He muttered the words without looking at her, hoping she would take the hint and get out, but instead she finished her drink, then threw the glass into his empty fireplace.

She had good aim, the glass shattered neatly against the back of the fireplace. It was a big fireplace, but it would have to be cleaned now, as he couldn’t risk the glass exploding in a fire come winter.

“You’re just like everyone else.” She whispered the words to him, not looking at him, not looking at anything, her mind a million miles away.

“Cleos and I have been working on a census for King’s Landing, trying to mark down how many people are left, and where they live, letting them know they can move if they’d like, helping them if they need it.

“It’s tiring, and takes forever, but it’s important, I told Father it was important, and he sneered at me and told me to go ahead, waste my time with this, it didn’t matter to him.”

She stood up, got herself another glass, but only took sips this time.

“We knocked on this house, and like usual, there was no answer, so I went inside, and Cleos went to the house next to us.”

She shuddered as she took a drink, letting the alcohol fill her insides before speaking. Ned wanted her to stop, he wanted her to just get out, but he said nothing as she kept going, almost hypnotized by her voice.

“The smell of dead bodies, you never get used to it, but I knew what it was, it wasn’t the first one we’d found on this mission. We even have a protocol for it, so I just had to find it and let Stannis’ team know what to look for.”

“Cersei, please -”

“It was a nice house, small but cosy, a family lived there, mom and dad and their new baby. I saw the photos on the wall, all the things they had bought for her, they loved her, they were so happy.”

Her hands started shaking and she finished her drink, then set the glass on the end table. 

“I buried her in the backyard,” she whispered. “I wrapped what was left of her in her bedding and dug her a grave with my bare hands.”

He looked at her hands and for the first time noticed her usually pristine fingernails were chipped, her nails were dirty, even her hair was out of place and frizzy.

“She’d lost everything, she shouldn’t lose her home too.”

She looked at him, he was expecting teary eyes, but Cersei was not that kind of woman. She looked lost, yes, but her eyes were clear, if unfocused. She was here, but back at that house too, maybe she’d even traveled so far that she’s gone wherever his family was.

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

“You’re not,” she said, standing up. “Don’t pretend just because you don’t have the right words.”

She left, like before, keeping the last words for herself.

**July 2013**

He broke down on her birthday. 

His youngest daughter turned 11 without him; he’d been stoic, pressing all that sadness down for nearly a year, because there was work to do, there was always something to do, and he could run and run, and he never had to stop.

But he could not outrun the calendar, and her birthday was here, and she was not, just like his other children, his wife, his best friend, all the people that mattered to him were somewhere he couldn’t reach.

More than anything at this moment, he wanted to rustle Arya's hair; he wondered if that awful haircut she’d given herself had grown out, or had she just cut her hair again in an attempt to spite her sister.

He closed his eyes, and tried to see her in his mind, tried to hear her laugh, but she was gone, like a faded photograph he could see her edges, but not her details. He had pictures of her, of all the people he'd lost, but a picture could not capture the fierceness in her shoulders, or the softness of her small arms when she wrapped them around his legs. 

He missed the smell of Catelyn's hair, and the deep laugh of his oldest son, even the sounds of his children's endless squabbles, he missed all of it, and these memories were all fading, while he only had his photos left.

Oddly, he thought of Cersei, and he wished she was here. 

She was miserable to be around, and he hated her (he didn’t hate her, not really, but she didn’t make it easy), and he wanted her here, so he could scream at her, because she wouldn’t mind. She would just scream back, even louder than him; they would scream so loud their voices would crack and their throats would burst, and it would be glorious to feel something so destructive.

He smiled at the thought, until he remembered the date, and then he couldn’t smile anymore.

**December 2013**

He almost smiled when she knocked on his door.

He knew it was her, it had been her a year ago, and it would be her next year too, and it was a sad thought, but it was a comfortable sadness, like those weepie movies Catelyn loved that he had never understood until now.

She did not smile when he opened the door, just rushing past him to his liquor, pouring herself a drink, but also making one for him too, a first for her.

She handed him the glass, then she shivered before taking a drink. 

“It’s freezing in here.”

It was. He had a fire going, but it was dying a bit, and he found he liked sitting here in the cold, it made him feel more awake, and the last thing he wanted tonight was sleep.

He handed her his glass. “I’ll get you something.”

He left the room, and grabbed his winter coat, it was too big for him, definitely too big for her, but it was warm. Catelyn had bought it for him three years ago before his last hunting trip up north to Winterfell with Robert. 

She’d known exactly what to get him, even if she hadn’t wanted him to go. His heart ached as he wrapped her gift around Cersei’s shoulders, but he knew Catelyn wouldn’t mind. She would have offered a warm jacket to a visitor too, even this one.

While he’d been gone, she’d thrown a few more logs on the fire, and it had roared back to life. 

She sat on the floor in front of it, the light of the flames bouncing off her face, and she looked almost happy, almost peaceful.

“Much better,” she said, her voice soft and low.

He sat next to her in front of the fire, and it felt good to let the heat warm him up. 

“Another invitation for your dinner tomorrow?”

She nodded. “If you’d like. But I didn’t think you'd want to.”

He didn’t. He was going to be miserable alone this year, and that would be just fine. And in case he was needed for Warden duties, it was easier to be here.

“You drove here for that?”

“I drove here for this,” she said as she raised her glass. “It’s not so easy to find this stuff.” 

She smirked at him, it was a transparent lie, it was easy to find anything you wanted, as long as you could get there first. And Lannisters knew how to get there first.

“Why did you come here?”

“Let’s play a game.” She stood up, dodging his question, grabbing his last full bottle of scotch before settling down and filling both of their glasses to the top.

“It’s called Truth or Drink. I’ll ask you a question, and if you don’t want to answer, take a drink. And then it’s your turn to ask me.”

Her face was lit up, almost manic looking, and he couldn’t imagine what she would want to ask him, but what was the harm. 

“OK, I’ll play.”

That almost feral look was on her face again as she looked him over.

“Who do you miss the most?”

Her eyes narrowed at him, as he let out a gasp. He should have known better, she was a lion, they always go for the throat.

He thought it was Catelyn, he thought of her the most, because her ghost was everywhere in this house, and he loved her with every part of him, but he remembered seeing Arya disappear, and the grief inside him welled up, threatening to smother him. He wasn’t supposed to have favorites, and he didn’t, but he knew that his wild daughter was _his_ , she had his looks and the wild spirit of his long dead sister, and he knew that if he had to doom one of his children to this world, she would cope best with having only him for company.

But that was his grief, it was not for sharing. He took a drink while he watched her smirk at him.

“Already Ned?”

He nodded as he swallowed.

“Your turn then. What have you got?”

What did he have for her? What was the most painful thing he could ask her?

“Who misses you the most?”

He expected her to crumble, to pale in front of him, but she laughed, a high pitched mocking laughter right in his ear.

“That’s easy Ned. No one misses me.”

She took a drink anyway, and he hoped she was wrong, but he had his doubts. 

Not her husband, he knew that without asking. 

Her oldest son lived to mock and tease others, he remembered one Sevenmas having to hold back Arya from attacking him after he had teased Bran. Cersei loved the little shit, but he was just like her, no one really wanted either of them around. 

But she had a daughter, who was beautiful and charming, but didn’t like to stand out in a crowd. 

“Not even your daughter? Or your brother?”

She shook her head. “Wherever she is, Myrcella probably wishes that Joff was here with me instead of Tommen, but even before she disappeared, she had made it very clear she didn’t need me anymore. And Jaime, well, we haven’t been close in years.”

She took another sip, breaking her own rules, but then she smiled at him again.

“My turn again,” she said with a menacing grin.

“Have you fucked anyone since the disappearance?”

“No.”

He had thought about it, and there had been offers, but it just made him sad instead of aroused. The woman he wanted was out of reach, and he didn’t want a poor substitute just to satisfy some base urges. His wife warranted more loyalty than that, regardless of his loneliness.

“I thought so.”

She raised her glass to him and took another drink.

_How can I hurt her? How can I make her go away?_

“How many men have had you?”

She raised her eyebrows at his crudity, and he could tell the drink was getting to him, but he wanted to see what she would do when provoked. He was poking an angry bear, and he couldn’t deny it was exhilarating.

“ _I_ have fucked 14 men.” She put extra stress on the I, letting her know that she had her control in check, she was still on top.

“How about you, how many women have had you?”

He took a drink. He was not embarrassed, he had loved both of them, but he would not drag them into this. Elia and Catelyn deserved more than that, even dead, even disappeared.

“Did I touch a nerve?”

“Hardly.”

He took another drink. “Who is your true love?”

She couldn’t hurt him with a question like that; Catelyn was gone, yes, but he had loved her _before_ , and he loved her now, and Cersei Lannister, no matter how much she would try, could not touch that.

Her hand started to shake as she pulled the glass to her lips. She took a drink and looked away from him.

He’d won.

He’d finally won.

“Did I touch a nerve?” He didn’t like this side of himself, what she brought out of him, but it felt so good, to take out his anger and frustration on someone who would fight back with claws out.

“Hardly,” she whispered. “It’s called Truth or Drink, and I haven’t met him yet, so it wasn’t a fair question.”

She smirked at him, trying to pretend his question hadn’t rankled her, and he smirked right back. 

She didn’t fool him, even if she wanted to pretend.

“Do you want to fuck me?”

His mouth actually fell open, and he knew that while he’d scored a point, he would never win this game of hers. 

After all, she made the rules.

He took a drink, and she smirked at him.

She didn’t have to say anything, but he could almost hear her calling him a coward.

He took another drink, letting the scotch burn his insides before it settled in his stomach.

“Yes,” he said, surprised by his own daring, surprised by how right the words felt. Even if he hated her, even if he didn’t hate her, he wanted her, if nothing else to get her to be quiet.

She took a sip, but did not pull her gaze from his face.

“Your turn.”

She was daring him, mocking him for his honesty. And he couldn’t hope to compete with that approach, she would always win.

“How do you want me to fuck you?”

It was a risk, he nearly expected her to stand up and slap him for his presumption, but he was not surprised when she didn’t. She looked glorious in her victory, like a prizefighter who has downed an opponent that should have wiped the floor with him.

“In your bed," she said the words low, her voice heavy with something he didn't recognize in her. "In your wife’s bed.”

“No.”

He would play her game, but there were limits. 

Her nostrils flared, but she nodded, looking around the living room, settling her eyes on the desk in the corner.

She raised her eyebrows, and the Seven help him, he nodded. 

_What am I doing?_

He stood up, his legs shaky as he jumped to attention, and held his hand out to help her up.

She brushed his hand aside, standing up herself, and walking over to the desk, his desk, where he had written legal opinions a lifetime and another world ago.

She took his coat off, threw it on the couch, then wriggled out of her underwear, smirking at him as she did it. He walked up to her, never taking his eyes off her.

_What am I doing?_

She reached for his hand, and he fought an urge to yank it back from her. She fingered his ring, the ring Catelyn had placed on his hand all those years ago, and he nearly deflated.

"Take it off."

He felt the rage in his blood heat up at her callous words. She may not have cared about her spouse, but he would not disrespect his wife like that, regardless of what this was.

"No," he said, his voice too calm, his children would always tremble when his voice got that low.

"You will if you want to fuck me." She glared at him. She wanted this too, it's why she came here, he knew that, but he also knew that she would leave before conceding in this. 

"Choose."

_How dare she?_

He understood Robert in this moment more than he had in years. This woman was infuriating, and he was in agony of lust and all she could do is glare at him with those fierce, cold eyes of hers.

But for all his rage, he didn't want her to leave. 

He pried his ring off his finger, something he'd done exactly once before in 20 years. He placed it in his shirt pocket, it fell near his heart, where she would always be safe.

She grinned, a hungry, feral grin, and she bent over the desk. He held onto her hips, gently, gently, he reminded himself, she may be hateful ( _is she?)_ but she didn’t deserve that. 

He lifted her dress up, stroking the smooth skin on her back. She shivered at his touch. He squeezed her ass, and she yelped, but she moaned as he kept going, running his hands over her perfect skin.

He reached around her, massaging her core, as she moved against him, making him ache for her ( _her)_. She gripped the desk, her hands turning white, her gasps heavy. He gently pushed a finger inside her, then two, mercilessly pushing in and out as she writhed below him.

“Goddammit Ned, fuck me already.”

He pulled his pants down, and he sank into her without hesitation, letting her envelope him as he thrust into her, again and again.

Catelyn was never like this, she was soothing, calming, a gentle breeze on a warm day. She was home. 

Cersei was a thunderstorm, she moved beneath him like every thrust of his was sending sparks through her body, like she was lightning herself. He wanted her to stop, to be calmed for him, but he couldn't speak with what she was doing to him, he'd forgotten that it could feel this good.

He screamed when he came, taking all his rage and sorrow and pouring it into her, leaving himself empty and oddly sated. He reached around her again, pushing her to the finish line as she pounded her fists on his desk.

She cried out once, twice, and then it was over.

It was too late for her to drive home, and they’d been drinking too much anyway. He put her in the guest room, and she was gone in the morning. 

He slipped his ring back on once she left. He expected to feel ashamed of himself, of what he had allowed to happen, but he only felt relief.

**August 2014**

He was a stupid old man, and one day he would remember it.

He had picked today, one of the hottest days of the year, to go for an impromptu hike in the woods behind his house. There were so many ghosts in here, and he could not take another minute of being trapped inside with them, so he ran out, actually ran, with no sunscreen, no water, not even hiking boots and practically ran to the trails.

And of course he got too much sun, of course he got overheated, of course he fainted, twisting his ankle and banging up his knee on the way down.

Of course.

Lucky for him he had thought to bring his phone with him; cell phones were working again, at limited capabilities, like going back in time, but his had worked well enough to call Podrick for help.

Stannis had sent his team to fetch him, and they had, assuring him it was just a bad sprain, telling him to take it easy and keep it elevated for a day, then it should be walkable with a brace.

He had been a bit rude to them, he wouldn't deny it, but it was embarrassing, an old man, getting hurt like that at the beginning of an adventure.

He could almost see Catelyn’s face right now, she would help him, no doubt, but she would be trying and failing to smother her own smirk, because she would have told him not to go, would have warned him.

He hadn’t cried in months over her, but he could feel the tears building up in his eyes. She would have chastised him relentlessly for this folly, but if she had been here, he wouldn’t have had to run away.

He let one tear slip before he sucked the rest back into his body. One was alright, one was allowed. 

He took a deep breath, then heard his door open.

Cersei walked in without a word of hello. She looked at him coldly and handed him a box that smelled delicious.

“Eat that.”

“Nice to see you too, how long has it been, how’s the family?”

She rolled her eyes at him, and gestured to the box again. “Eat.”

He fumed inside as he opened it, and he saw a roast beef sandwich, hot and fresh from the deli that opened just a month ago.

They had a bakery now too, a cafe, all these little shops that offered their food for free, because their supplies were free now too, what a different world they had woken up in.

He barely tasted it, but it didn’t matter, it was something that hadn’t come out of a can or the freezer, and it had been so long since he’d had anything new that he felt like weeping as he devoured it.

She handed him a napkin as he finished, and he sheepishly cleaned his hands, it had been quite messy.

She took his trash away and returned with a bottle of pills and a glass of water.

“From Stannis.”

But she didn’t set them down, she walked down the hall with them, into his bedroom.

_Catelyn’s bedroom_

She came back and looked him over. 

“You can’t sleep on this couch.”

She pulled at his arm, but he pulled back.

“I’m fine, and I don’t appreciate you going where you’re not invited.”

He glared at her, and she scowled.

“That’s the spirit Ned, suffer more just to spite me, you’ll be a Lannister in no time.”

His nostrils flared, but he knew she was right. He had once spent an extended amount of time sleeping on this very couch, and he had a crick in his neck every day of that dark time. 

He shuddered at the memory, and let Cersei pull him up. She was surprisingly sturdy as he leaned against her and she helped him hobble to his room, to his bed.

He sat down, and he took one of the pills she had left for him, and he felt better immediately, just lying here in his soft bed, drowsy and safe.

Cersei stood over him, her arms folded across her chest, looking down at him. She didn’t say I told you so, but she didn’t have to, she knew she’d won already.

She left just like that. Before he drifted off, he was surprised to find that he had wanted her to stay.

**October 2014**

She hadn’t knocked.

She hadn’t said a word.

She opened his door, and came in, sat next to him on the couch, and he handed her the drink he had made for her. He hadn’t known she would come tonight, but he had a feeling she would want to spend this grim anniversary with him.

They had not talked about that night last December. He hadn’t told anyone, and he suspected she hadn’t either, and it was for the best, a one-time mistake of two lonely people.

But she was back, wearing that dress again.

He had built the fire up, because he remembered that she got cold in his drafty house. 

She took a drink, and that smile was back on her face, the hungry smile, and she turned it toward him.

“Let’s play a game.”

“No.”

It had been two years, two years without his family, and it had sunk in, finally, that wherever they had gone, he was not getting them back. 

He was in no mood for her Lannister bullshit tonight.

“Just ask me what you want to ask me, and I’ll answer.”

“Tell me your deepest, darkest secret.”

He sighed, he should have known it would be something like that. 

Her and her games. 

He took a drink and looked at her, saw a deep sadness in her he’d only glimpsed before.

“You first.”

She shook her head. “No, you’re not ready for that one. But I’ll tell you a shallower, greyer secret.”

She took a drink, almost like she was steadying herself.

“I had an abortion when I was 16.”

“Damn.”

It was a dumb comment, but it was all he could think of to say. His whole life, he’d never had a secret that big, and she’d been a teenager and shouldered that.

“You’re the first person I’ve told that to, so congratulations.”

She raised her glass to him, and he reflexively copied her. 

“Not even your mother?”

She shook her head. “She had died by the time it happened.”

She took another drink. “We were such idiots, I got knocked up the first time I had sex.”

He thought about wrapping his arm around her, holding her like he would Catelyn, but he didn’t, and he couldn’t find a reason why, but he didn’t think she would like it.

“I couldn’t let anyone know, even him...it would have killed him. So I aborted our kid, and got on with my life. But I’m here and looking at your house that should be filled with children, and all my secrets come spilling out.”

She took a drink, and he knew her better than to expect tears, but there was something else in her eyes tonight, something that she could not run from.

She turned toward him, with the full force of her sorrow turned on him, and he gulped, but he did not look away.

“They’re not coming back, are they?”

He shook his head.

“No.”

She nodded, finished her drink, and sat in front of the fire. He sat next to her, and it was too warm for him, but he could bear it. It was worth it to be near her, near someone on this horrible night when he could only remember the people he’d lost.

“Your turn.”

She whispered the words, and did not look at him, and she was still playing her damn game with him, and it was infuriating behavior from a woman he did not invite in.

“Why do you keep coming here?”

She threw her head back and let out a laugh that, to someone watching from outside, would have indicated he’d just told the funniest joke she’d ever heard.

She stood up, looming over him, the firelight making her look beautiful and dangerous at the same time.

She leaned down to him, gripping his shoulders in her surprisingly strong hands.

“I come here because you are the one person in my life who doesn’t wish I was someone else.”

He thought about her words, letting them move and twist and bend in his head, like the wind in the rain, and he knew they were true.

He did not want Cersei to be Catelyn; he loved his wife, he missed her, he would die for her still, but he was not so selfish that he would wish for her to comfort him and leave their children alone, wherever they were.

He wanted Cersei to be herself, her cold, spiteful, rotten self. It made her so much easier to hate.

She pushed him back, not too roughly, but he hit the floor with his back, and with a huff, he sat back up as she glared at him.

“Down.”

Her tone was sharp and harsh, he’d never heard her like that, not ever, and while he didn’t want to let her win, he couldn’t find the will to argue with her as he laid back down.

She stood over him, wearing that smirk again, and he hated her for it, hated that she always beat him.

She lowered herself onto him, straddling him, putting her weight on his chest, and she was light, but the pressure did take his breath away.

She clenched her fists in his shirt, almost massaging his chest, almost caressing him.

Almost, but not quite.

"Your turn."

This again, her endless need to expose his weaknesses. He wanted to hate her for it, but she scraped his skin with her nails, and he felt more aroused than angry as he remembered what it felt like to fuck her, and he hated her for that even more.

"What's your darkest secret, Judge Stark? The court demands an answer."

She had been honest with him, deeply, unflinchingly honest, and he couldn't deny he felt compelled to unburden his soul on the anniversary of the worst day of their lives.

"I paid off a woman who had Robert's baby."

He closed his eyes, remembering her face as she signed the NDA he had given her. She received a briefcase of money from him, all cash, that he told Catelyn he'd lost in a bad investment.

But he had to help her; at one time, she'd been a housekeeper for him and Catelyn, and that was how she'd met Robert, he had thrown this unsuspecting woman into the path of a charming lout (who he loved dearly). Robert would have ruined her life, and any whiff of the story would have forever tainted her daughter's life. She was an infant who had her father's hair and his smile, and he couldn't do that to her.

He wondered suddenly if she or her mother had been left behind here, but he decided he didn't want to know the answer. 

He looked up at Robert's wife, his widow in one sense, and for once, he was certain he had gotten to her. Her eyes were small and tight, her lips in a dangerously thin line.

She gripped his shirt tighter, and she pulled it open, like in a movie. The buttons went flying, but she didn't take her eyes off his face as she pinched his nipples.

It hurt, but in a good way, he felt himself responding to her, his body had gone too long, far too long, without her ( _without Catelyn_ ).

She thrust herself forward, back and forth, on top of him, and he wanted her more than he wanted to keep breathing, and she wouldn’t stop, she was teasing him and giving him nothing.

“Cersei, please.”

He hated himself for those words, and he hated her more for forcing the issue, for making him have to beg.

She stopped.

She stood up and left him, walking out of his house, for good.

He ached for her, but he understood. 

Her secret was personal, but it was only about her. His secret protected the man she hated.

Truly unforgivable.

**December 2015**

She had not come last year, and he had missed her.

It hurt to admit it, but it hurt more to be separated from one more person he wanted to be with, especially since he could visit her but she didn't want to see him.

But that was a year ago, and he'd gotten past it. If she was that upset about a ten year old secret, a secret that meant nothing now, then let her be upset somewhere else.

But when he heard the knock, he knew it was her. 

He opened the door for her, and she strode in, like usual, heading straight for his liquor cabinet.

She set down a bottle, and his eyes bulged as he saw a bottle of his favorite scotch. He hadn’t seen one in months, and his meager supply was long gone.

“Peace offering,” she said. 

She poured them drinks, and he couldn’t help it, he was so touched by her gift, he felt this urge to swoop her into his arms and kiss her. Catelyn had loved that, but he held back, he had to hold back with her or she would consume him.

He knew that now.

“Thank you,” he said and she nodded as she sat down.

“I’m not sorry,” she said. “This is not an apology.”

He sat next to her and nodded. “Never thought it was.”

She took a drink. “I know that wasn’t the only time,” she said. “Even gone, he can still hurt me.”

"Why did you stay with him?"

It was a rude question, and in another life, he would never dream of asking it, but in that other life, he would never have let her in in the first place. 

"My father," she said, flatly, her voice drained of emotion. "Our fortunes are tied up in the Baratheon empire, and he told me that if I left Robert he would disown me, and without his money, Robert would get the kids too, and I would have nothing."

She shuddered. "He later apologized to me, can you believe that? It took losing the whole world for that bastard to say he was sorry." 

_What has happened to us?_

She was silent for a while as her words hung in the air. She looked at the whiskey in her hand before pouring herself more. She took a drink, her face was already flushed. 

“It’s about respect,” she nearly screamed the words, pulling him back to her old grievance. “I knew he was unfaithful, I knew that before we were married, but he didn’t have to flaunt it. He didn’t have to flirt with women in front of me. He didn’t have to fuck them in my house.”

She nearly spit those last words at him, and he had no answers for her. Robert was his best friend, he loved him like a brother, even more than the older brother he barely knew, but he had been a rotten husband, and Ned could finally face the truth of it.

_And she was a rotten wife._

“But Cersei,” he didn’t have to finish the thought, but she glared at him regardless.

“Yes, one time, I screwed around on him in our house. One time, I gave in to lust and fucked a man on my husband’s desk. But Robert didn’t ever find out about him or the others, and that’s how it’s supposed to work.”

Ned could only nod. Robert had never said anything about it, and he was nearly certain if he found out she had cheated on him, he would have divorced her without a second thought.

“That was kind of you,” he said, his voice straining, trying to find a diplomatic response.

She growled at him. “Yes Ned, I’m a whore, but I’m a considerate one.”

He sighed, already tired of this. “You’re not a whore, I never said that.”

“But you think it.”

_Do I?_

He had fucked her, but they had never kissed. He expected her to come to him, always to him, and never once had he reached out to her. She was a guest in his house, and he treated her like a stray that was fine to kick around because it could always leave.

He winced as her words fully hit him, and he looked at her, expecting to see the familiar look of triumph in her eyes, but that wasn’t there tonight.

She looked angry and hurt, almost vulnerable in her rage, at him, at Robert, at every person who had wished she would go away for good.

The joke was on them, they had all left her, and she was stuck here, the same person as always, and yes, it must be infuriating, to be stuck in the same box for your whole life.

He reached out to her, to take her hand, but she pushed it away.

“Don’t.”

She stood up, her hands shaking as she poured herself more scotch, spilling some of it in her haste.

“Don’t pretend because you’re sorry.”

He stood up, taking her hand, holding it tightly. She glared at him, but she let him. 

“I’m not pretending.”

He took the glass from her, setting it down, and with a deep breath, started walking down the hall, to his bedroom.

_Catelyn’s bedroom_

She smirked at him, her hardened mask firmly in place as she took in the room he had refused her two years ago.

Ned let her look, it was an ordinary room, and it was his, and it hurt to admit it, but he wanted her here, he wanted _her_ in his bed.

He stepped toward her, wrapping his arm around her waist and holding her to his chest. She shivered at his touch, and looked at him, a question in her eyes.

She was mean, vindictive, loud, drank too much, played too many games, and she would never, ever yield, but there were only so many people left, and he found that regardless of where this went, or what it meant, for once in his life, he was going to take something offered, and he wasn’t going to question it.

“Can I stay here?”

He nodded.

“It’s _her_ room.”

“It’s my room.”

He kissed her, his first kiss in three years, and while he was enjoying that, she unbuttoned his shirt, his pants, like she wanted to possess every part of him, she would not be still or calm or anything but herself, she was a hurricane on the shore of his life, and he embraced the storm.


End file.
